Page 89 of Oar Than Friends

‘He’s in St Barts with that woman from the summer,’ Alex sniffed, and for the first time I noticed he’d been crying.

‘Al,’ I pulled him into a hug, ‘oh buddy, I’m so sorry you saw that. Did you know he was away?’

He shook his head and stepped back. ‘No, I haven’t spoken to him. But I think this is why Mama was mad yesterday when her lawyer called, so I wanted to get rid of it before she woke up.’

I squeezed his shoulder; Alex liked to pretend he was tough, but he was probably the most sensitive one of all of us, and the most thoughtful. Being the youngest, he had taken the news of our father’s behaviour the hardest.

While the rest of us were aware of what my dad got up to, and tried to ignore it, at fifteen years old, Alex had always been shielded from the worst of it.

Unfortunately, my father’s antics at the beginning of the summer were too big for any of us to hide, and Alex had been accosted by a journalist shouting questions at him as he walked out of school. He’d tried to act like it hadn’t bothered him, but when I’d jumped into my car and raced over to see him it was clear he was in shock.

It had been that incident which had set off my mother to issue divorce proceedings; because while my parents might not have liked each other very much, they’d agreed to keep things civil until Alex was old enough and got through his exams, but it had all been fast tracked when the front pages started their reporting. My mother had promptly whisked the four of us off to Greece for the summer, where I would have stayed had I not been training and racing. Since then, Alex had made it his mission to protect our mother, like he was making up for lost time.

If I hadn’t already hated my dad before, I would have now.

‘Why didn’t you just put it on the fire?’ I glanced over at the kitchen hearth, neatly laid and ready to be lit.

He shrugged, wiping a hand under his nose. ‘I didn’t want anyone to see it. I was worried it would take too long to burn.’

‘What’s it doing in the house, anyway?’

The morning papers were delivered to the house every day and placed on the table in the entrance hall, but it was always the international ones, the broadsheets; we did not order ones best used for lining a rabbit hutch.

‘It was inside theNew York Times, I don’t think it was supposed to be there.’

‘Well done for catching it, then.’ I ruffled his hair, and slung my arm over his shoulder just as Marco, our chef, walked into the kitchen.

‘Arthur, can I get you some breakfast? Or a coffee?’

The smell of coffee reminded me why I’d come downstairs in the first place, and I nodded at him with a smile.

‘Coffee would be great, thanks, Marco. Two, actually, I’ll take one up to Kate.’

‘Very good. Alexander, would you like another?’

‘No, thanks,’ Alex shook his head, then paused with his hand on his stomach. ‘Actually yes, I will. Don’t suppose there’s any bacon to go with it?’

Marco raised one thick eyebrow, accompanying his almost permanently pursed lip. He liked to look annoyed, but it was rarely to be taken seriously. Having been with our family for fifteen years, he was well used to the appetites of three growing boys, and his store cupboard was never empty. He was also prepared for any and all food requests outside of the family mealtimes my motherinsisted we kept like clockwork. We’d have been quite happy to cook anything for ourselves if we’d been allowed in his kitchen, but after Phoebe nearly burned the place down a few years ago all four of us had been banished – the one occasion it would be foolish not to take him seriously. We’d never make anything as well as Marco and his team did, anyway.

‘I’m sure I can find something, I have some fresh croissants and the morning bread baking, too.’

My belly grumbled and saliva pooled in my mouth. I don’t know what Marco put in his croissants but it rivalled crack for how addictive they were. A croissant also might be the solution to waking up Kate.

‘You’re the best, Marco,’ Alex called after him as he walked off to his own kitchen, a grin returning to his face. ‘Is Kate still asleep?’

I threw the paper on top of the logs sitting in the grate and tossed a lit match into it. I watched my father go up in flames, and turned back to Alex with a nod.

‘I like her, she’s fun. Pheebs was so mad when you went to bed. She was convinced she’d be the one to finally beat you,’ he snorted.

‘No one beats me at Monopoly. She knows that.’ I pulled out one of the stools at the kitchen island and sat down.

‘Is Kate going to join in for the Santa run?’

I shrugged, ‘I haven’t asked her, but I’m sure she will. Phoebe will have something she can wear.’

‘Are you doing it?’

I scoffed, ‘Of course! And I’m going to be beating your arse this year.’

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